This story may not be sold or
used for profit in any way. Copies of it may be made for private use only and
must include all copyright notices, warnings and acknowledgements.

This story depicts a loving relationship
between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this
type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do
not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read
something other than this story.

Though I researched the period
and place in which this story is set, I have taken extensive liberties with
both. The medical treatment mentioned is also very dubious - please donít try
this at home. <g>

Important Notice.

This is the fourth novelette
(the sequel to Silver Lining) in my series of Westerns starring Zee Brodie
and Christie Hayes.

The stage, and its six horses,
was waiting in front of the Wells Fargo office, its passengers' bags and cases
piled high on the sidewalk at its rear, when a panting Zee turned onto Tucson's
Main Street. Two women, one an attractive blonde in a simple, green dress, the
other a matron in an old-fashioned bustle, stood arguing beside its open door.
Zee sighed and jogged the remaining distance, halting next to her lover, whose
cheeks were flushed.

"Here, darlin'. It was under
the bed." She held out the reason for her tardiness. "Everything all right?"
She took off her stetson, ran a hand through cropped hair, and resettled the
hat more comfortably.

The little blonde took the necklace
of turquoise beads that had been Zee's one-month anniversary gift to her and
gave her a nod. "I was just explaining to Mrs. Grummond," she said, sounding
annoyed, "that she cannot have your seat at the back of the stage."

"It's not 'her' seat," objected
the woman, whose massive bosom needed all the corseting it could get. "First
come, first served."

"I was first," snapped
Christie, her eyes flashing green fire.

"That's as may be, but your 'friend'
wasn't." The matron's gaze flicked disdainfully over Zee, her expression showing
clearly what she thought of six-foot tall women wearing men's clothes. Or maybe
it was the guns.

Zee shrugged. "Would've been
here," she said, ignoring the four sets of interested eyes staring out at her
from inside the stagecoach, "but I had to go back to our hotel."

"'Would have been' doesn't count,"
said Mrs. Grummond stoutly. As though that ended the matter, she prepared to
board.

Fair or not, Zee had no intention
of sitting on the middle seat all the way to Phoenix. She shot out a hand, effectively
blocking the matron's progress.

"Well, really!" said Mrs. Grummond.
"Please let me pass."

During her ArizonaHellcat
days, Zee had perfected a glare that would halt any man in his tracks. Well,
it hadn't just been the icy look, she amended truthfully - in the early
days, her knuckles had been permanently skinned too. Now, she put that skill
to work. She narrowed her eyes, fingered the butt of one Colt meaningfully,
and waited.

The matron's florid complexion
paled markedly. "We-ell," she stammered. "Since she saved you a seat and ...
and she did get here f-first ..." She stood back.

"Knew youíd see it my way." Zee
turned to the goggling Christie and gestured.

With a start, the little blonde
collected herself and stepped up into the coach. Zee followed hard on her heels,
easing herself into the rear seat next to Christie and staring down the gazes
of the other passengers before assessing them.

The mountain of lard sitting
on the other side of Christie, mopping his sweating brow with a large handkerchief,
must be a businessman, she decided - make that a banker. The young woman in
the lemon-yellow dress in the far corner - pretty enough, if you liked your
women vapid, which personally Zee didnít - must be going to visit relatives.
As for the clean-shaven young man - if his blue uniform and the yellow stripes
on his sleeve hadn't given away his Army occupation, his ramrod straight posture
would have. And finally, the po-faced man in black with the scrawny neck fairly
screamed 'preacher' to her eyes. Just her luck!

While a still rather shaky Mrs.
Grummond was making herself as comfortable as was possible on the backless middle
seat, a commotion outside announced the arrival of the last of the stage's nine
passengers. A tall woman with a commanding air and a jovial looking little man,
both wearing up-to-the-minute Eastern garb, scrambled on board and squeezed
themselves next to Mrs. Grummond. From outside came the sound of the driver,
who had appeared from inside the Wells Fargo Office, hastily stowing luggage
in the boot.

"Sorry we're late," panted the
tall woman. "We're not used to having to be up so early." Her accent was unmistakably
English, and Zee exchanged an interested glance with Christie.

6 am was hardly 'early', mused
Zee. Not that she and Christie wouldn't have minded an hour or two more in bed
themselves. The younger woman had revealed an aptitude for bedsports that was
keeping Zee very pleasurably occupied.

The door slammed shut, jarring
the tall deputy from her lascivious thoughts, and the stage rocked as the driver
climbed onto the box. A few seconds later, a muffled "Hi!" was followed by the
sound of a whip cracking and the stage lurched forward.

Zee grimaced, as the carriage
bounced on its through-braces, jolting her until her teeth rattled. She almost
groaned aloud at the thought of the torturous journey ahead, and not for the
first time wished the railroad link from Tucson to Phoenix had got beyond the
planning stages.

A small hand eased itself into
hers, and she turned to regard an excited looking Christie. Abruptly, all her
disgruntlement vanished. No matter how hellish this journey turned out to be,
she would be with the little blonde ... and that made all the difference.

"Phoenix, here we come," she
mouthed, and gave the hand an encouraging squeeze.

***

Christie had ruefully discarded
any romantic ideas of stage travel she might once have entertained. They'd been
travelling for a mere three hours and she felt as though she'd been in a rockslide.
The jolting must be much worse for those on the backless middle seats though.
She eyed the unpleasant Mrs. Grummond and tried not to smirk, then chided herself
for being uncharitable.

Zee was staring out of the window
and Christie rested her gaze on the strong profile silhouetted against the morning
sunlight. The deputy sensed her regard and turned to smile at her. "Must be
nearly time for a rest stop."

On cue, the stage began to slow.
When it had finally come to a halt, the groaning passengers stumbled out into
what looked to Christie like the middle of nowhere - dry flat earth populated
only by cacti - and set about restoring the circulation and feeling to their
limbs. She flushed as the driver matter-of-factly handed out several latrine
spades and warned them all to be careful of rattlers.

Zee was methodically stretching,
and she copied her, feeling the stiffness ease somewhat. Then the deputy circled
behind her and strong fingers began to ease the knots from her neck and shoulders.
She almost groaned with relief, than became aware of the shocked looks coming
their way. Why are people always so quick to judge us?

She wasn't aware she had sighed
out loud until Zee said softly, "Ignore them. Who cares what they think?"

"I was thinking of Blue," she
said sadly.

That earned her a sympathetic
look. "Give your brother time, darlin'. It's a lot to get used to. He'll come
around."

Come around to her living in
a brothel? She doubted it. Blue's letter had been crystal clear. As long as
she lived with whores she was no sister of his. As for Zee, he blamed the deputy
for shaming Fred so publicly, and for so disgracefully seducing his sister...though
Christie wasn't at all sure it hadn't been the other way around.

Zee gave her shoulder a last
comforting pat, then strode off to have a word with the driver. The Englishwoman,
whose name Christie had learned was Vesta Galvin, noticed that Christie was
now alone and came to join her.

"Does your companion always wear
men's clothing?" Vesta's gaze followed the rangy deputy who was pulling down
the brim of her hat against the glare. Christie was astounded by such impertinence.

"Because I must say," continued
the Englishwoman, apparently unaware of giving any offence, "it makes her look
fine, very fine."

The blonde blinked, registering
with surprised relief that Vesta's gaze held only admiration.

"It does, doesn't it?" she said
softly.

The desert breeze carried Zee's
conversation to them in hot gusts. "The Gila Bandit ... twice last month ...
any risk?"

Gila Bandit?

"But she's still quite clearly
a woman," continued Vesta, pursing her lips in consideration. "Pretending to
be a man is not her intention, is it?"

Christie regarded the other woman
curiously. Maybe the unusual attitude was because she was English?

With a visible start, Vesta recollected
herself. "I do beg your pardon, Miss Hayes. How rude of me to make such an impertinent
remark about your travelling companion! You must understand, my interest is
entirely professional."

"Are you a dressmaker?"

"My husband and I are on The
Stage, my dear." At Christie's confused glance, she clarified, "Not this stage"
she pointed to the coach, "The Stage." Realizing from Christie's puzzled
look that she was none the wiser, she continued, "Which means we design and
sew our own costumes, my dear."

Christie was about to ask whether
the jovial little Englishman with soulful brown eyes, whose name Vesta told
her was Dan, could really sew, when Zee tipped her hat to the driver,
and turned. As it always did, the breath caught in Christie's throat when those
remarkable pale blue eyes found her. With pleasure, she watched her lover stride
towards her on long levi-clad legs.

"Is everything all right?" She
gazed up at the tanned face and resisted the urge to smooth the brow wrinkled
in thought.

The banker was taking a covert
interest in their conversation, noticed Christie. So was Col. Gregg, who happened
to be passing on his way back from answering Nature's call. The Colonel stopped
beside the three women and puffed out his chest. "No need to worry about bandits,
ladies. I'll protect you."

Zee's eyes narrowed and Christie
could tell from the way her jaw muscles clenched that she was about to say something
rude. She reached for the tall woman's hand and squeezed it. Zee sucked in her
breath and let it out again. Then she brusquely excused herself, grabbed the
spade from the Colonel, and went off in search of a cactus and some privacy.

Christie turned back to the young
man. "Er, thank you, Col. Gregg," she said politely. "But my friend is
a deputy sheriff. She can more than take care of any bandit herself."

"My, my," said Vesta. "How fascinating!"

His mouth dropped open. "But
she's a wom..." His voice trailed off.

"Yes, she is," confirmed
Christie dryly. "You may have heard of her. Deputy Zee Brodie? It was she and
Sheriff Hogan who brought in the Cody Brothers last month."

But Zee was returning, spade
in hand, and before Christie could answer, Col. Gregg had hastily excused himself
and hurried away. The tall woman raised an eyebrow. "Something I said?"

Christie chuckled. "I told him
about you capturing the Cody Brothers. It seemed to make him nervous."

Zee snorted then held out the
latrine spade. "Better hurry, darlin'. It's another three hours before the lunch
stop and we're due to leave in five minutes."

"Oh!" said Christie. "Then give
me that, and be quick about it."

***

It was noon when the stage pulled
into the adobe relay station where they were to have lunch. For the past hour
and a half, Zee had been riding up on the box with the driver. The blistering
heat hadn't bothered her any, she was used to it, but she'd had to pull her
bandanna up over her mouth and nose against the alkali dust. Now she knew where
the driver's nickname came from.

The young blonde had pouted when
Zee confessed that being cooped up with eight others in the muggy gloom of the
stage was making her antsy, but she had reluctantly approved her solution. Zee
smiled, recalling the passengers' bulging eyes as, while they were still travelling
at full speed, she eased herself out of the nearside door's window, pulled herself
up onto the roof, then snaked her way forward to join the surprised driver.

For something to do, Zee had
persuaded Dusty to let her take the reins for a spell, only to hand them back
soon after with the rueful admission that handling a team of six horses was
harder than it looked. After that, she confined herself to daydreaming about
what she would do with Christie once they got to Phoenix, staring through the
shimmering heat haze at the Catalina Mountains far over to the east, or pretending
to shoot the jackrabbits flushed from cover by the thump of hooves and rumble
of wheels. She was whistling tunelessly - Angie's whores had brainwashed her
with their damned Pianola tunes - when the relay station came into view.

As Dusty brought the stage to
a halt directly outside the entrance, she jumped down, pulled off her bandanna,
and went to open the stage door. Her arms were suddenly full of shapely blonde.
"Mph!"

A mischievous Christie disentangled
herself, then stepped aside to let the other grumbling passengers off. "Ooh!"
The blonde stretched, the movement emphasizing the generous curves beneath the
green dress, and Zee eyed her appreciatively. "I swear every muscle in my body
aches, Zee. Was it any better for you up on the box?"

"Some." Zee removed her hat and
banged it against her thigh, sending up a cloud of red dust.

Christie tried not to cough.
"Maybe we should call you Dusty too."

"Sorry." Zee took her lover's
arm and guided her into the welcome cool of the adobe dining room. "C'mon. We
donít have long here."

"I missed you," said the blonde
as they chose seats at a creaky trestle table whose place settings consisted
of bent cutlery and dented tin cups. "And that's not just because Mrs. Grummond
took your seat."

Zee gave her an affectionate
glance. "Did she? Sorry 'bout that."

A fat Mexican woman bustled in
and began placing platters of food in front of each traveller. Zee inspected
the tough piece of steak thrust between two soggy soda biscuits and sighed.
Well, all right ... as long as there was coffee to help it down. She looked
around, and relaxed when the woman returned carrying a pot of steaming black
sludge and poured some into Zee's tin cup.

Christie eyed her own 'sandwich'
dubiously then gamely took a bite. "It's not too bad," she mumbled.

"We'll make up for it in Phoenix,"
promised Zee, chewing the gristly meat grimly before easing it down her gullet
with a gulp of bitter coffee.

When Sheriff Hogan had asked
Zee to go to Phoenix and help Sheriff Coogan identify a prisoner - Cactus Bob's
description wasn't on record but Zee had ridden with the prickly outlaw in her
Hellcat days - she had intended going alone, on horseback. Then Christie had
asked her persuasively (so persuasively, in fact, that they had almost broken
the bed) if she could come too. That was when the idea had come to Zee to treat
this jaunt as a kind of honeymoon. So she had wired ahead, booking them a room
at what Angie assured her was the best hotel in Phoenix.

Well, the blonde deserved it
for putting up with that tiny room at Angie's Palace and the sounds coming through
the walls night after night. Angie and her girls had been good to her, and the
brothel was the first place in a long while she had even come close to calling
'home'. But now there was someone else's needs and feelings to consider, and
it was time to move on.

She pictured Christie's face
when she told her the news.

"What are you smirking at?"

"Nothin'."

Green eyes regarded her suspiciously.
"Zee?"

"All aboard," came the driver's
voice. Relieved at the timely interruption, Zee kicked back her chair and stood
up.

"C'mon, darlin'. Our carriage
awaits."

***

Christie was glad Zee had chosen
to ride inside the stage with her for the next portion of the journey. Being
squeezed between the huge-hipped Mrs. Grummond and the flabby-bellied Bank Manager
(whose name, she had learned was Walter Bonney) was not an experience she wished
to repeat. Mind you, it had taken another dose of Zee's chill glare to make
the sour Matron resume her place on the middle seat.

Zee's presence had also nipped
in the bud another unpleasant development. Col. Gregg had started eyeing Christie
with open admiration, had even taken to making unctuous remarks. Fortunately,
a timely blue glare from Zee had returned his attention hastily to the passing
landscape.

Now if only Zee could do something
about the Preacher who, unnervingly, had taken to staring at the two of them.
Resolutely ignoring him, Christie rested her head on her lover's shoulder and
stared out at the clumps of cacti and desert paintbrush, wondering what Phoenix
would be like, and what Zee was being so secretive about.

She must have dozed off, because
she woke disoriented to find the stage slowing and Dusty's voice calling, "Rest
stop. Everybody out."

"Thank heavens!" said Annie Stenhouse.
The girl scrambled for the door, and the other passengers weren't far behind
her.

"Have a nice nap?" asked Zee,
as she handed the blonde out.

Christie stifled a yawn. "What
time is it?"

Zee pulled out her pocket watch.
"3 p.m."

She groaned and shook her head.
When the driver passed round a full canteen, she took it eagerly and eased her
parched throat with a few mouthfuls of tepid water. Then the call of Nature
came, so she grabbed the spade and went off behind a cactus to answer it. When
she returned, the Preacher was standing in her path. She sidestepped him, but
the cadaverous man in black did likewise.

Christie halted. "Something I
can do for you, Reverend?"

"My child," he said sternly,
"your soul is in grave danger." He glanced at Zee who was being talked to by
the English couple.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"That 'woman'," he almost spat
the word, "is the spawn of Satan. If you allow her to corrupt you, you will
go straight to Hell."

"How dare you?!" managed a furious
Christie. She tried to walk around the Preacher, but once more he placed himself
firmly in her way. Then came the Bible quotations, giving chapter and verse,
on which he had based his condemnation of her and Zee. Christie became aware
she was gripping the spade handle so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She
resisted the temptation to hit the offensive man over the head with it.

His litany of hate continued
remorselessly but eventually he was forced to pause for breath. She seized her
chance.

"Why, you narrow-minded, hate-filled,
unchristian -"

His eyes widened as she advanced
on him. Eyeing the spade nervously, he stepped back. Then something made him
look down. He screamed.

Shocked by his reaction, Christie
halted. In the sudden silence - conversation had stopped and all heads had turned
their way - she heard what the Preacher must have heard scant seconds earlier:
a dry rattle.

Heart pounding, she scanned their
surroundings. Then she saw it, the diamond-backed snake lying coiled beside
his boot, the tip of its tail vibrating furiously in warning. And as she watched,
the deadly reptile began to uncoil itself. A broad triangular head reared, and
a forked tongue flickered out.

"Don't move," she told the Preacher.

Then everything happened at once.
Something flashed past her, making her flinch; a gunshot rang out; the horses
whinnied and began to rear in their traces; and the Preacher cried out, clutched
his leg, and began rolling on the ground.

Christie was only dimly aware
of Dusty rushing to calm the panicked horses, and of Zee's voice raised in anger.
Her attention was fixed on the snake. A small knife had pinned it firmly through
the neck to the dirt, and it was in its death throes. Where did that come
from?

She looked round then, and saw
Zee and Col. Gregg angrily facing one another. Smoke still curled from the muzzle
of the six-gun in the Colonel's right hand.

"Did no one ever tell you not
to fire guns around untrained horses?" yelled Zee. Gregg's reply was lost as
the Preacher reclaimed Christie's attention.

"I'm dying," he moaned. "I can
feel the poison spreading."

She knelt next to him and tried
to prise his hands away from his calf. Weren't you supposed to cut the wound
open and suck out the poison? Zee would know. "Let me look." But he only hung
on tighter.

When Zee didn't join her as expected,
she looked round to see what was keeping her, blinking in astonishment at the
sight of the deputy murmuring in one of the horse's ears and patting its neck.

"Zee!" The dark-haired woman
looked round at her shout. "The Reverend's been bitten! We donít have much time."

"No he hasn't." But she gave
the horse a farewell pat and came over to join Christie anyway. She squatted
next to her.

"What are talking about?" Christie
suppressed an urge to slap some sense into Zee. "Look, there's blood." The Preacher
had at last released his grip, and his trouser leg and palm were indeed bloody.

"Then Gregg's bullet must have
nicked him," said Zee matter-of-factly, "because I knifed that snake 'fore it
had chance to bite anyone." She batted away the man's hands, tore his trouser
leg open along its seam, and examined the wound. "See. No Puncture. No swelling.
Just a graze. Almost stopped bleeding already."

While Zee pulled her knife free
of the dead rattler's neck, casually wiped the blade clean on its carcass, and
shoved it back in her boot, Christie peered at the 'snake bite'. She's right.
She sat back on her heels and sighed, then felt a large hand rub her back
gently.

"Hey," came Zee's voice. "You
all right?"

Christie nodded. "Now I am."
As the panic of the last few minutes receded, tiredness and anger replaced it.
She stood up and turned to stare down at the man in black.

"I hope you realize that this
woman you called a 'spawn of Satan'," she hissed, "just saved your miserable
life." The Preacher's head remained bent, but a telltale flush spread to the
tips of his ears. Afraid of what she might do to him with the spade, she let
Zee take it from her then guide her towards the stage.

"Spawn of Satan, huh?" The tall
woman seemed amused. "That's another term for Hellcat, right?"

Christie sighed. "Maybe." She
tried to snap out of her sour mood. "Nice throw, by the way."

"Thanks." Zee held her gaze for
a long moment, then squeezed her hand encouragingly. "There'll always be jerks
like the Reverend, darlin'. Best just to ignore 'em."

"Easier said than done."

"You'll do all right."

Zee's confidence put new heart
into her and she returned the squeeze with feeling.

The next hour passed without
incident and Zee rode on the box with Dusty again. They were swapping scurrilous
stories when the trail began to deteriorate and he was forced to concentrate
on his driving.

This particular stretch, she
saw, had suffered badly from erosion. Up ahead was a deep dry wash where torrential
rain from a summer storm had washed the trail away. As the horses thundered
towards it, Dusty tried to rein them in to a reasonable speed. They had the
bits between their teeth, though, and were slow to respond. He cursed and reached
for the brake lever, but by then the stage was careering into the wash and beginning
to skew.

Zee grabbed for the handrail
and hung on.

The horses were back under control
and the stage beginning to straighten up when, halfway down the slope, the vehicle
checked. Zee's jaws clapped together painfully and she was flung forward, almost
losing her grip. She barely had time to register that the near back wheel had
struck a rock buried in the dirt, when the stage began to tilt.

"We're going over," yelled Dusty.

She let go and jumped for it,
hitting the ground rolling and coming to her feet just in time to see the side
of the stage hit the ground with a sickening crunch. A single glance
reassured her that Dusty was picking himself up and dusting himself off, then
Zee was spinning on her heel, her thoughts turning instantly to Christie.

The wheels were still spinning
and startled cries and curses were coming from inside the stage when Zee tugged
open its upper door. Seconds later, a dazed blonde head popped into view and
for a moment, Zee simply pulled Christie to her and held her tightly, her heart
still pounding at the thought of what might have happened.

"I'm fine," soothed Christie,
sensing Zee's distress. "Shaken up but fine. See?" She flexed her elbows and
wrists in demonstration, but Zee wasn't convinced until she had thoroughly checked
the young woman over for herself.

She made a protesting Christie
sit quietly in the shade of the downed vehicle, then began to help the other
dazed passengers out one by one. Both Mrs. Grummond and the Preacher spurned
her hand so she shrugged and let them climb out as best they could. Amazingly,
all except the flabby banker had escaped with mere bumps and bruises. Mr. Bonney,
however, was cradling his right arm and whimpering with pain.

Zee checked it quickly. "Broken,"
she said.

"Driver, this is an outrage!"
Mrs. Grummond's hands were on her hips.

"Sorry, ma'am," said Dusty. "Guess
the horses must have still been a mite unsettled from that gunshot." Col. Gregg
flushed and looked at his boots.

The apology made no difference
to the matron. "Wells Fargo will be hearing from me. Your incompetence could
have killed us all ... And look what you've done to our luggage!"

Boxes and suitcases, valises
and bags had broken free of the leather boot and were strewn about the dry wash
in all directions. The impact had burst many of them open - clothing and toilet
articles lay in plain sight. Zee blinked at the corsets, dresses, and ladies'
boots - in sizes too large for any woman - spilling from Dan Galvin's case.

Colonel Gregg and Annie Stenhouse
quickly began gathering their own spilled belongings and packing them back into
their bags. The other passengers, including Christie, joined them.

"My bags!" Bonney said anxiously.
"I must see to my bags."

"Later," snapped Zee. "Let's
get this arm fixed first."

"I'll do them for you," offered
Christie. It had taken her only an instant to repack their few belongings (Zee
believed in travelling light). The blonde returned to the other passengers and
started examining baggage labels.

"This is gonna hurt," Zee told
Bonney. She braced his shoulder with one hand, grabbed his wrist with the other,
and pulled strongly.

"Aaaargh!" Heads turned in their
direction, then hastily away again.

As soon as the ends of the fractured
bone in the ashen-faced banker's forearm had lined up to her satisfaction, she
stopped pulling. "All done." She patted him encouragingly on the shoulder.

"It's strange." Christie was
coming towards them. "Your bags are all intact, Mr. Bonney." She halted in front
of him. "They must have very strong locks."

Some of the colour came back
into his cheeks at that, and Zee wondered what he hadnít wanted the other passengers
to see. But she had other things on her mind. What could she use for a splint?
A comb, maybe? A hairbrush?

Her gaze wandered, then settled
on something. Ah! With a "Be right back," she strode towards the kneeling Englishman.
"May I?" She whisked a corset out of his hand.

"Er ... erm ..." Startled brown
eyes gazed up at her.

She grinned at Dan. "I'll take
that as a yes."

Christie was tending to the banker
when Zee resumed her place by his side. The blonde's hands were smaller and
nimbler than her own, so she handed her the corset.

"What on earth ...?" Christie's
eyebrows climbed.

"Wrap it tightly round his arm.
The stays should keep it stable."

"Ah." She set to work with a
will ... or would have, but Bonney had recovered himself sufficiently to see
what she intended and pulled violently away.

"Are you mad, woman?" he cried.
"No decent man would be seen in such a thing!"

"Donít be silly!" Christie reached
for him once more, but once more he resisted, though every movement brought
more beads of sweat to his forehead.

Zee grew tired of this. If he
kept moving his arm around like that, the fracture would need resetting again.

"Now listen up, and listen good,"
she growled, pinning him with her gaze. "Stay still, shut up, and let my friend
help you ... or I'll break your other arm."

After that, he was meekness itself,
and not only allowed Christie to wrap the corset tightly around his right arm
but thanked her profusely. Only trouble was, it wouldn't stay put.

Before Zee could suggest a solution,
Christie was snapping her fingers imperiously at her. "Your bandanna, please."

Muttering under her breath about
bossy blondes, Zee untied the red neckerchief and handed it over. Then, seeing
that Christie had Bonney and his injury under control, she straightened and
went to join Dusty who was examining the toppled stage.

"At least the wheel's still in
one piece," he said. "Seasoned white oak. Strong as iron, that."

Zee pursed her lips. "We could
do with some kind of lever."

"Yeah. Ain't got one though."
He turned and regarded the passengers dubiously. "And damned if those namby-pambies
look up to the task."

Zee followed his gaze to the
injured banker, lanky Preacher, little Englishman, and over-zealous army officer.
"We'll manage," she said. "Hook up the team and I'll organize the manpower."

By the time Zee had marshalled
all the able-bodied passengers (including the women - she rebuffed all squawks
of objection and outrage with the quiet question: "Do you want to walk
to Phoenix?") Dusty had strung a line round the coach and attached the team
to it.

"Ready?" he called.

Zee nodded.

"Hi!" He cracked his whip above
the horses' heads, and they strained forward. As instructed, the passengers
hooked their fingers under the edge of the coach and pulled, or got their shoulders
under it and pushed. Twice they tried, and each time it lifted very slightly,
then fell back to its original position.

Zee sighed. "All right. Let's
take a break," she called. She stood back and flexed shoulders that a moment
ago had felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets. The other passengers
followed her example while Dusty instructed the horses to rest.

"What was that you said about
walking to Phoenix?" asked a dispirited Christie.

"Donít worry, darlin'. One more
try ought to do it." Privately, Zee wasn't so sure.

She let everyone catch their
breath, then resumed her position. Reluctantly, the others did the same. "Right,"
she yelled. "This time, put your backs into it." She signalled to the waiting
Dusty. "Now!"

He cracked his whip and shouted,
"Hi, Blaze. Hi, Mustard," and, with a jangling of harnesses and creak of leather,
the horses began to pull.

Zee heaved with all her might,
and beside her Christie did the same. With a reluctant groan and creak of tortured
wood, the coach began to lift ... one inch, two inches, three ...

"That's it," panted Zee. "Keep
going."

Already the stage was higher
off the ground than it had been on the previous attempts. Dusty cracked his
whip again, and the horses surged forward, putting their full strength into
it.

"Give it everything you've got."
Zee's arms were aching from the strain, but then came a lurch, and suddenly,
miraculously, the backbreaking weight on them was gone.

A loud cheer went up as the stage
rolled upright and settled onto its wheels with a satisfying crunch. It
was still bouncing slightly on its through-braces when the grinning passengers
turned to congratulate one another.

Christie gave Zee a warm hug.
"Is your life always this eventful?" She regarded her scraped hands ruefully.

"Yeah," said Zee. "'Fraid you're
just gonna have to get used to it."

***

It was 6 p.m., dusk was gathering,
and in the distance a coyote had started to howl mournfully, when the battered
stage rolled into the Case Grande relay station.

Zee had warned Christie not to
expect much. "It'll just be somewhere to eat and sleep." Just as well,
she thought, staring out of the window at the rambling complex of old buildings
and ramshackle stables. There were even some chickens wandering around the yard.

"Is this it?" asked Mrs. Grummond.
"Well! I just hope they donít have fleas."

For once, Christie found herself
in agreement with the obnoxious woman.

"You'll be able to get some proper
treatment for that arm of yours at last, Mr. Bonney," said Col. Gregg, eyeing
the corset immobilizing the banker's arm. Bonney grunted and shifted restlessly
in his seat.

"All right, darlin'?"

Christie turned to smile at Zee
who had taken to sitting inside again and was discreetly holding her hand. She
suspected the deputy was more shaken up by the spill than she cared to admit.
"Just wishing it was our hotel in Phoenix," murmured Christie.

Zee smiled. "It's only for one
night. Think you can manage?"

"I can if you can."

That earned her an approving
squeeze of the fingers. Then the stage door was opening, and a plump little
man with a huge moustache was welcoming them all to his 'humble abode'.

Zee got out first, and Christie
let the tall woman help her down since she ached all over. They retrieved their
luggage, then allowed themselves to be corralled by their affable 'host'. Dusty,
meanwhile, was unhitching the horses with an ostler's help and leading them
away toward the stable block.

When all five women had been
gathered together in a group, their host said, "Follow me, ladies," and led
them at a brisk trot along the dusty path to the women's sleeping quarters.

From the outside, Christie thought
it looked like a huge barn. Inside, it was better than expected, but not by
much. Off a long corridor were ten identical rooms, all tiny and all containing
a bed and a water jug and washbasin. Their host allocated Zee and Christie the
one at the far end.

As the other women were assigned
their billets, Zee and Christie escaped to their room and scanned their surroundings.

"Hardly the lap of luxury," said
Christie, "but at least that bed will sleep two very comfortably."

Christie sat on the mattress,
which had seen better days, and watched Zee wander over to the partition separating
them from next door. The tall woman rapped it judiciously with her knuckles.

"Walls are wafer thin," she concluded.
"That's the trouble with converted places."

Christie sighed. Though she was
tired and sore, she had been looking forward to the other woman bedding her.
"Guess we'll have to stick to snuggling then."

Zee raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
She kicked the door shut and advanced on Christie, a predatory gleam in her
eye.

"Mmfph!" Christie let herself
be kissed thoroughly, then remembered the thickness of the walls and persuaded
Zee to simply hold her. It felt good to be alone with her lover at last, to
relax against the lean, muscular body and feel safe and cherished. But then
Zee's kisses resumed and became more urgent -

"First sitting, ladies, if you
please." A firm rapping at their door accompanied their host's voice.

"Damn it!" A frustrated Zee released
Christie and sat up. "Just when things were getting interestin'."

While they both got their breath
back, the blonde busied herself refastening her buttons and straightening her
dress.

"First sitting," came the host's
voice again, a little fainter this time, as he progressed along the corridor.

"We should eat something."
Zee stood and patiently allowed Christie to run a comb through her hair.

"As long as it's not a gristle
sandwich," reminded Christie. "There." She stood back and assessed the result.
"You'll do." That remark earned her a kiss on the lips, then Zee was turning
towards the door.

"Well. Only one way to find out
about the food."

As they set off along the corridor,
the door of the room next to theirs opened and Vesta Galvin came out. She smiled
at them. "May I join you two for dinner?"

"Please do," said Christie politely,
ignoring a poke in the ribs from Zee.

As they walked across the gravelled
yard to the dining room, they passed a makeshift sign saying 'Saloon' and an
arrow. Zee darted off to investigate, then came back moments later grinning.

"It's more of a shed with a dirt
floor and whitewashed walls, but it'll do," was her verdict. Christie suppressed
a sigh..

In the dining room, the three
of them sat together. Moments later, Vesta's husband came in, saw them and hurried
over. Then the other passengers came in and took their places at the other tables.
Once they were settled, the host's wife bustled in carrying platters of food.

Supper was a welcome surprise.
The stewed chicken melted in the mouth, the fried eggs were freshly laid, and
the bread had been fresh baked that morning. Christie wolfed down her food until
the platter could have been licked clean, earning herself an amused glance from
Zee. Then came cups of freshly brewed coffee, which bore no relation to the
sludge they had been served at lunch.

Conversation proceeded in fits
and starts. The day's excitement was the primary topic - the Galvins were full
of praise for the way both Zee and Christie had handled things - then came talk
of their plans for Phoenix.

"We'll be working, of course,"
said Vesta. "Two performances a day and three on Saturdays .... The rest of
the Company are already there," she explained, in response to Christie's enquiry.
"Yes, we usually do travel with them, but we made an exception this time. Mr.
Galvin," she turned to regard her husband fondly, "has distant relatives in
Tucson, so we took time off to visit them. Didn't we, dear?"

The little man nodded, seeming
content, like Zee, to merely listen to the conversation.

"Oh... er, Deputy Brodie has
some sheriff's business to take care of. But after that ... Well, I've never
been to Phoenix before, so she's promised to show me around. Haven't you, Zee?"

Zee, who had just taken a gulp
of coffee, merely winked at her. Christie blushed and changed the subject.

The day's traumas were catching
up on her with a vengeance and she found herself more and more trying not to
yawn. The third time this happened, Zee reached over and tenderly pushed a strand
of blonde hair out of Christie's eyes.

"Go to bed," she ordered.

"But it's still early!"

Zee shrugged. "Doesn't signify."

The Galvins grinned as their
gazes tracked between the two of them.

"Oh." Christie considered that.
"Very well. Are you coming to bed too?"

The deputy's answer surprised
her. "In a bit. Think I'll have me a smoke, and maybe a whisky and a hand of
cards or two first. " She grinned crookedly at Dan and Vesta. "Anyone care to
join me in the saloon?"

Christie tried not to be annoyed
with Zee. It was she, after all, who had decreed they should merely 'snuggle'.
And it was early.

"I'll take you up on that smoke,"
said Dan. "Then it's bed for me too." He turned to his wife. "'The long day's
task is done, and we must sleep', eh, my dear?"

The Englishwoman nodded. "Too
long." Unselfconsciously, she caressed her husband's cheek. "In fact, I think
I'll turn in too." She yawned then apologized.

His brown eyes gleamed as he
blew her an extravagant kiss. "Good night, sweet lady."

Leaving Zee and Dan chatting
amiably about Five Card Stud (Christie resisted the urge to roll her eyes),
the two women walked back across the yard to their quarters. They were nearly
there when Vesta sighed.

"Is something wrong?" asked Christie.

"Silly of me, I know," said Vesta.
"but this is going to be the first time in months that I've slept in a different
bed from my husband." She glanced sideways at Christie. "At least these quarters
wonít keep you and the deputy apart."

Christie was sure that even the
tips of her ears must have turned pink. "Mmm." She kept her voice neutral.

Vesta laughed. "You must never
be ashamed of what you and Deputy Brodie share, Miss Hayes. Love, wherever it
is found, is to be cherished. " She became melancholy again. "But I shall miss
my Dan."

They had reached Vesta's room,
and she smiled and said goodnight, leaving a thoughtful Christie to proceed
on alone.

In her room, she poured cold
water from the jug into the basin provided and washed herself. Then she pulled
on her nightdress, climbed beneath the rough sheets, and dozed off. Some time
later, she was dreaming of Zee, when the faint click of the door latch was followed
by a sagging of the mattress. A warm, familiar presence snuggled up behind her,
bringing with it the scent of tobacco, and whisky, and Zee herself.

A large hand reached round her
and kneaded her breasts through her nightdress. "Still feeling sleepy?"

Every nerve in her body now tingling,
Christie rolled over onto her back. "Not now I'm not!"

She gazed up into eyes glinting
in the moonlight, then the silhouetted head leaned closer and warm lips pressed
against hers. She gave herself up to Zee's knowing caresses, whimpering as her
nightdress was removed and tender spots were licked and sucked. Then she suddenly
remembered the thinness of the partition separating their room from Vesta's.

"The noise, Zee!"

"Pretend youíre a coyote," advised
the deputy, continuing her attentions.

Christie struggled to free herself.
"I'm serious! We mustn't."

Abruptly, the pleasurable sensations
stopped, then the pillow disappeared from beneath her head. She was dazedly
wondered where it had gone when Zee presented it to her.

"Scream into this."

"Wha-?" A passionate kiss swallowed
her response, then she could barely think as once more Zee's lips and tongue
and strong fingers were moving over her, and a fierce trembling was beginning
to overtake her.

"Oh, my Lord! Zee ...!"

Hastily she pressed the pillow
to her mouth ...

***

Zee finished up the salt pork
and potatoes that constituted breakfast. Not quite up to the ham and eggs that
Christie liked to cook for her whenever she got the chance, but not bad. She
reached for her coffee and, as she drank, thought about the little blonde.

Sharing the brothel kitchen with
Madame Angie's pedestrian cook, Hattie, wasn't ideal for the young woman. And
sharing a tiny bedroom definitely wasn't the same as having a place of their
own. Christie needed to be able to entertain friends when she felt like it (and
that would include that stupid brother of hers when he finally saw sense), and
she couldn't ask respectable folk to a brothel.

The blonde hadn't complained
once, of course, but Zee wasn't blind. Christie deserved more, and she was going
to get it. Fortunately, the capture of the Cody Brothers had netted her a tidy
sum in reward money. Enough to purchase the Cooper house.

Sure it needed a bit of renovation
and decoration - that was why it so cheap - but Madame Angie and her girls had
promised to help her take care of that. And the garden ... well. Old Coop had
worked hard on that vegetable plot, so Christie should have no trouble growing
whatever she wanted.

Zee grinned, remembering their
first meeting, when her horses had eaten Christie's flowers, and, their second,
when Zee had presented her with a sack of bulbs. The little blonde seemed to
bring out the pussycat in her, and Zee was glad of it. Not that youíd know it
from last night, she thought guiltily. Watching Christie trying to keep the
noise down had brought out the wildcat in her, and she feared she had worn the
poor girl out.

The dining room door opened and
the Galvins came in with Col. Gregg. Absently, she flexed her stiff knuckles.
The officer's black eye had developed nicely since last night. His face blanched
when he noticed her and he took a table as far from her as possible, much to
the English couple's evident chagrin.

Next to enter was Dusty. Last
night, he had matched her drink for drink, but he looked none the worse for
it. He tipped his hat to her then took a seat and dug into his breakfast with
a gusto that matched Christie at her hungriest. Moments later, he had cleared
his platter and gulped his coffee down, and he was on his feet and heading for.
the door.

Then Christie appeared in the
doorway, her gaze darting over the diners. It settled on Zee, and a smile replaced
the slight frown. Zee's heart swelled with affection and she watched her lover
appreciatively as she made a beeline for her.

"Why didnít you wake me?" Christie
took her seat opposite Zee.

"Thought you could use the rest."

"Very funny," grumbled Christie,
but she brightened when the host's wife placed a breakfast platter in front
of her. "Thank you."

For the next minute, the blonde
concentrated on shovelling down her salt pork and potatoes, then she paused,
fork halfway to her lips. "Your knuckles are skinned."

"Are they?" Zee's gaze wandered
to where Col. Gregg was wiping his lips on a napkin.

"A pretty woman, a group of those
who like pretty women, and plenty of whisky? Yeah, I guess so."

The blonde chuckled at that.
"I do love you."

"Me too, darlin'." Zee reached
across the table and took the other woman's hand.

At the next table, Mrs. Grummond
was complaining loudly to Annie Stenhouse about the racket the coyotes had made
last night. Zee glanced slyly at Christie.

"You know what? You sound a bit
hoarse this morning, darlin'. Think you may be getting a headcold?"

A sharp kick on the ankle was
her reward for that impudence. Then Dusty appeared in the dining room doorway
and yelled, "Stage for Phoenix is ready to leave. All aboard."

"Just you wait," muttered Christie
darkly.

"Promise, promises."

They followed the driver out
into the early morning light where a fresh team of horses had been hitched to
the stage, and the luggage, which the passengers had piled there before going
for their breakfasts, had been loaded into its leather boot.

Zee took her usual seat next
to Christie, and then they were off. While the stage swayed and jolted towards
Phoenix, Christie rested her head against Zee's shoulder and stared out of the
window. Zee amused herself by watching her fellow passengers out of the corner
of her eye.

In the corner, Bonney was snoring
loudly. Must be laudanum for his arm in that silver flask of his. A regulation
splint and bandage had replaced the corset that had so offended the fat banker.
Zee wondered if he had returned the undergarment to its rightful, if rather
unlikely, owner.

The Galvins, meanwhile, were
happily telling anecdotes about their life in England, much to Mrs. Grummond's
disdain. Annie Stenhouse seemed to appreciate the amusing stories though. Her
braying laughter was threatening to get on Zee's nerves and she took a deep
breath.

"You all right?" murmured Christie.

She smiled at the blonde. "Sure."

Col. Gregg was busy too. Thwarted
of Christie, he had switched his attentions to the only other eligible woman
available. His flowery compliments made Annie blush and toss her head. It was
all for show, though. Even while he was praising the girl his gaze kept straying
to Christie's ankles or the curves that filled out her dress so nicely. Zee
fought down the impulse to give him another black eye.

As for the black-suited reverend
- since the snake incident, he had studiously avoided both the deputy and Christie,
and now he refused to meet her gaze. Being ignored by a bigot was one step up
from being preached at, she decided, and turned her gaze to the passing landscape.

An hour into their journey, heavy
clouds darkened the sky, and moments later came the pounding of rain on the
roof. The noise woke a dozing Christie and she looked round, disoriented.

"Summer storm," said Zee. "Be
over any minute." And indeed it was, leaving a welcome feeling of freshness
behind, having damped down the ever-present dust.

She pulled out the pocket watch
Molly had given her (funny how Christie's presence had eased the pain of Molly's
death), and flicked open the case. Hmmm. Shouldn't be far now to the Gila
River.

People said it was uncanny how
the Gila Bandit knew when there was gold on the Tucson-Phoenix stage. But Zee
knew from her own stage-robbing days that the supernatural had nothing to do
with it. Most likely, there was an inside man at Bonney's bank. She had a strong
hunch that that Bonney was carrying gold in his personal luggage, hoping to
sneak it through unremarked. But if even one other person at his bank knew about
it, then so would the Gila Bandit.

She thought about that for awhile.

After the next rest stop, when
the passengers were about to retake their seats for the final stretch of their
journey, Zee told Christie she would be travelling up on the box for a while.
Then she took Dusty to one side and told him her plan.

At first he was resistant. If
the Bandit tried to ambush them, he argued, he'd rather go hell for leather
for the river. The horses were reasonably fresh ... they could outdistance the
Bandit.

Zee shook her head and showed
him her tin star. "Nope," she said firmly. "He ain't gone too far down the road
to murder yet, but he will. It's time to bring him in."

In her Arizona Hellcat days
she'd had nightmares about gunning down some innocent bystander by mistake.
She'd been caught and sent to Yuma before it came to that, though. It was the
first piece of luck to come her way in quite a while, even if at the time it
had seemed just the opposite.

Dusty shrugged. "All right, deputy.
You know best."

Zee only hoped he was right.

When all the passengers were
safely aboard and the doors tightly shut, she slipped down from the box and
round to the back of the stage, then crawled into the leather-covered boot.

***

"Is that the Gila River?" asked
Annie Stenhouse.

Christie followed the girl's
pointing finger, expecting to see something spectacular but finding only the
same old desert landscape. Then she noticed the wavering line of trees and shrubs
on the horizon and knew they could only exist near a water source. She leaned
back in her seat and wondered how Zee was faring up on the box.

"I believe it is the river,
my dear." The Reverend smiled at Annie. "And once we have crossed it, it'll
be plain sailing to Phoenix. You'll be glad to be in civilized company once
more, I'll be bound."

What he said wasn't in itself
offensive, but Christie couldn't help noticing the pointed glance he shot her
way when he said 'civilized'. She tried not to bristle. Vesta and Dan shot her
commiserating looks which made her feel worse.

"What about the Gila Bandit?"
continued Annie eagerly. "Do you think he'll attack us?" Bonney had gone pale
at the mention of the robber, but the girl seemed unaware she might be frightening
her fellow passengers.

Col. Gregg patted the holster
at his hip. "No need to fear him while I'm on board, Miss Stenhouse."

Just then, a volley of loud gunshots
made everyone jump, and the stage checked violently, throwing them forward in
their seats. "Whoa, boys!" came Dusty's voice. "Whoa!"

"What's going on?" asked Vesta
anxiously as the stage slowed to a stop.

"I donít know." Christie strained
to see out of the window. "But those shots sounded as though they came from
nearby."

Seconds later, the door opened,
and a sheepish looking Dusty stood there. "Nothing I could do, folks," he said
apologetically. "He got the drop on me. You'd better get out nice and quiet
now."

He stood back. Only then did
Christie spy the grey horse and its hooded rider, and the two cocked six-guns
pointing straight at them.

"Out here where I can see you,"
came the gruff voice.

As Christie descended from the
stage, she looked round for Zee, feeling her heart sink when she saw no sign
of her. Donít panic. Zee can look after herself, she told herself sternly.
Hard on her heels came Vesta and Dan. Then Col. Gregg emerged, gun in hand,
knuckles white as he pulled the trigger.

Two gunshots rang out in quick
succession, and Gregg cried out, dropped his six-gun, and cradled his hand -
the fleshy part of his palm was now bleeding copiously. With a small cry, Annie
rushed to offer him her handkerchief as a bandage.

"Stupid move," said the Bandit,
who appeared unharmed. "Next one who tries it ends up dead."

Vesta and Dan moved closer to
one another and held hands. The Preacher began to pray under his breath.

"This is an outrage," said Mrs.
Grummond stiffly.

The Bandit ignored her.

"No one needs to get hurt," he
said. "All I want is the gold."

"There is no gold," protested
Bonney. "Your information must be wrong." But even Christie could tell that
the banker was lying. His was visibly trembling, and sweating even more than
usual.

"Tsk, tsk," said the figure in
the black hood, moving his gun muzzle to cover Dusty. "Get the banker's luggage
out of the boot."

Dusty nodded.

"And you ... little man."

Dan's brown eyes were terrified.
"Me?"

The Bandit nodded. "Help him.
You too, Preacher."

Under the Bandit's watchful eye,
the three men wandered round to the back of the stage. Then Dusty hopped up
and undid the straps holding the boot closed. Moments later, he was handing
down Bonney's bags which were, judging by both the little Englishman's and the
Preacher's reactions, heavier than expected. They placed them carefully on the
ground then looked up for further instructions.

"Stand clear." The Bandit raised
a six-gun and aimed it at one of the three bags.

Christie's ears were still ringing,
and the acrid scent of gunpowder was strong in her nostrils, when she registered
that the bullet had shattered the lock.

"Open it."

Hurriedly, Dan crouched and flipped
open the bag ... which contained several small bags of golddust.

Christie gulped. It was probably
more wealth than she had seen in her entire life.

"No gold, huh?" The Bandit relaxed
his guard momentarily.

Something emerged from under
the stage, barrelled past Christie, and leaped at the rider with the ferocity
of a mountain lion. Then the horse was rearing, and the startled bandit, who
had dropped one gun in his attempts to stay in his saddle, was falling as his
attacker bore him to earth with a thud.

Christie blinked, gathered her
wits, and rushed forward to help Zee. No help was necessary though. When she
reached her, the deputy was kneeling astride the dazed bandit, who was now lying
face down in the dust.

As Zee pulled his gloved hands
behind his back and lashed them securely with his own belt, the passengers,
mouths open, were still too stunned to do more than watch. Only Dusty was composed
enough to offer assistance.

Zee waved him away then winked
at Christie. "Told you there was nothing to worry about," she called. With one
booted foot, she rolled her captive over onto his back. "Now let's see what
we've got." She reached for the man's black hood and with a flourish pulled
it off ... to reveal auburn curls, long lashes over eyes so dark they were almost
black, a pert nose, and a Cupid's bow mouth.

"Oh my!" said Annie into the
shocked silence. "It's a woman!"

The Gila Bandit's mouth worked
then she spat. "Nice!" muttered Zee, disgustedly wiping spittle from her cheek.
"Very nice!" She hauled the woman roughly to her feet and gave her a little
shake. "No need for that," she chided.

A loud crump made Christie
turn. Walter Bonney was lying flat on his back in the dirt, looking like a beached
whale.

"Help! He's fainted," cried Mrs.
Grummond.

As the passengers gathered round
the unconscious banker and watched Dusty wet a neckerchief with water from his
canteen and use it to sponge Bonney's forehead, Christie went to join Zee.

"Where were you?"

"In the boot initially." Zee's
answer brought a disgusted sigh from her prisoner. "People have been known to
take a nap in there, you know. Bit cramped, but not too bad." Zee looked insufferably
smug. "When everyone was otherwise occupied, I sneaked out and hid behind the
stage."

Christie folded her arms and
tapped her foot. "So you knew we'd be attacked?"

"Not for sure. Had a hunch though."

A faint spluttering proved to
be Bonney recovering consciousness and refusing a further mouthful of water.

"And you didn't bother to tell
me?!"

Zee looked sheepish. "Coulda
been a false alarm. Didnít want to worry you for nothing, darlin'."

The endearment brought a snort
and a roll of the eyes from the auburn haired woman. The deputy turned an icy
blue gaze on her. "That's enough outta you."

"No. Got hips like a boy and
she must bind her breasts or somethin'. Fooled me like everyone else." Zee turned
to regard the banker, who was now being helped shakily to his feet. "What's
wrong with him?"

"Always was lily-livered," muttered
the Bandit.

Christie blinked. "You know him?"

"I should hope so. I've been
married to the pompous windbag for fifteen years."

Zee guffawed.

"He's your husband?!" asked Christie.

"Well, that explains how she
always knew when his gold was on board," said the still chuckling deputy. She
shoved her prisoner towards the stage, meeting only cursory resistance..

"Why, Jane?" came Bonney's pained
voice as they approached him.

"Why not?" The Gila Bandit brushed
past him with barely a glance. "All that money, Walter. Yet you never once
gave a thought to my needs."

While the chattering passengers
boarded, Christie watched Zee use Dusty's spare set of reins to lash her prisoner
to the stagecoach's roof - putting her inside with her husband would be asking
for trouble, as would sitting her next to the driver. When the deputy eventually
climbed down, Christie greeted her with the hug she had been wanting to give
her since they were held up.

"When I got out and couldnít
see you," she whispered in Zee's ear, "I thought something terrible had happened.
I thought I'd lost you." She felt suddenly tearful.

"It takes a lot more'n that to
get rid of the Hellcat, darlin'." Zee gave her a powerful squeeze then released
her and held her gaze. "Donít you know that by now?"

Christie sniffled and fumbled
for her handkerchief. "I'm beginning to."

***

The recent rainfall had swollen
the Gila River above its normal level but Dusty assured Zee that the ford was
still manageable with care. It was either that or wait ... and with a schedule
to keep and the passengers champing at the bit, he was reluctant to delay.

Zee shrugged. "You know best."

He nodded and turned back to
his lines. "Hang on!" He cracked his whip above the two leaders' heads, and
the snorting team plunged down the bank, the stage rumbling hard on their heels,
the tethered grey stallion that was the Gila Bandit's mount bringing up the
rear.

Zee hung grimly onto the handrail,
watching the water level climb above the horses' fetlocks, then their knees.
They began to whinny and nicker at the twigs and other debris swirling round
them, and once they baulked, but a judicious crack of the whip from Dusty soon
strengthened their resolve.

To her alarm, he ignored her
and instead shook the reins vigorously, encouraging the 'wheelers' - the largest
and most dependable members of the team - to put their backs into it. "Yah!"

The horses were almost swimming.
It couldn't get much deeper could it?

Zee craned her neck and peered
over the side. The water hadn't yet reached the bottom of the door but it wasn't
far off. Noses were pressed against the windows, and there was concern in the
muffled voices coming from inside the stage. Once the water started seeping
inside, they would probably panic. Surreptitiously, she crossed her fingers.

The horses were swimming in earnest
now, straining in their traces, the veins popping and tendons standing out in
their arching necks. The stage passed the ford's halfway mark, and Zee shot
the grim-faced man beside her a glance. Shouldn't the water level be dropping
by now? She gritted her teeth and hung on.

It was imperceptible at first,
then slowly but surely, the level began to fall. Then the horses were no longer
swimming but wading, pulling the stage more and more strongly towards the bank.

Zee let out her breath. "That
was close."

Dusty's jaw worked, then he nodded.
"Thought for a moment I'd misjudged it."

She laughed, releasing the tension
of the last few minutes. "Glad you kept that to yourself."

They powered up the bank in a
shower of grit and sand ....

An hour later, they had reached
the outskirts of Phoenix and were heading for Central Avenue. Dusty reined in
his team and halted the stage outside the Wells Fargo office then jumped down
and began unloading the bags ready for the passengers.

Zee cut Jane Bonney loose from
the roof and helped her down, then felt a familiar presence behind her. Holding
her prisoner's arm with one hand, she turned and smiled down into green eyes.
"Hey."

"Hey," said Christie, looking
fondly up at her.

"We made it," said Zee unnecessarily.

The blonde nodded, her gaze briefly
taking in their bustling surroundings before returning to Zee's face.

"I have to get her -" Zee indicated
the scowling Gila Bandit, "- over to the sheriff's office, and then take care
of that business for Hogan. Think you can find our hotel all right?"

"It's the Republic, isn't it?"

Zee nodded. "Best hotel in Phoenix."

"All right for some," muttered
Jane Bonney .

"Iíll find it," said Christie.

The urge to touch her lover was
too much for Zee, and she stroked a soft cheek. Eyelids fluttered closed in
response, and she sucked in her breath.

"Deputy Brodie. Miss Hayes."
Loud voices shattered the quiet moment, and they turned to find a jovial Vesta
and Dan Galvin bearing down on them. The tall Englishwoman was holding something
in her gloved fingers.

"We're in a hurry - so we can't
stop. But we had to come and say Good Bye."

"Indeed, sweet ladies. 'Parting
is such sweet sorrow'." The little Englishman smiled and gave a gallant little
bow that made Zee want to laugh.

"But by way of a Thank You,"
continued Vesta, ignoring her husband's antics, "for the good care you've both
taken of us all these last couple of days, we thought you might like these."
She pressed two small pieces of card into Christie's hands since Zee's were
occupied with her prisoner.

"Oh!" said a delighted Christie,
examining the items. "Tickets to the theatre. Thank you so much."

Probably some Shakespeare
play. Zee suppressed a shudder and hoped Christie wouldn't expect her to
go.

Then Dan tapped his pocket watch
pointedly and Vesta grimaced. "We must rush," she said. "We've a matinee this
afternoon, then an evening performance, and we have to get our costumes cleaned
and pressed first." She sighed. "Heaven knows what state they're be in after
this journey!"

With a last smile and wave of
the hand, they went to retrieve their bags from Dusty then headed off down the
street. Zee tipped back her hat and scratched her head as she watched them go.

"Quiet, you." Zee tightened her
grip on the prisoner's arm then turned to regard a resigned looking Christie.
"I have to go, darlin'. Got one prisoner to deliver and another to ID."

The blonde stuck out her lower
lip. "I know. Just make sure you hurry back," she ordered.

Zee winked. "Why, darlin'! If
I didnít know you better, Iíd say you had some kinda 'entertainment' planned
for me."

"That's exactly what I had in
mind," said Christie. Then the little blonde came in for the kill. "I'm taking
you to the theatre!"

***

Christie paced her hotel room
for the umpteenth time. Where was that aggravating woman? She had last
seen the deputy heading up Central Avenue towards the town jail, argumentative
prisoner in tow. That was two hours ago. Since then, Christie had had a snack,
a long soak in the capacious bath, and a refreshing nap.

She glanced at her pocket watch.
If Zee didn't hurry, they were going to be late. The sound of the door handle
turning brought her to a halt, and she swivelled on one heel.

Zee stood in the doorway, hat
in one hand. "Sorry I'm late, darlin'." She threw her stetson unerringly at
the hatstand, then kicked the door closed behind her. "Sheriff Coogan sure likes
to talk!" She appraised their surroundings. " Hmmm. Nice room!"

She crossed to the large bed,
sat on it with a groan of relief and gave an experimental bounce, then began
to pull off her boots.

"What are you doing?"

Zee froze, her boot half off,
and looked up. "Huh?"

Christie put her hands on her
hips. "The Theatre. The matinee. Vesta and Dan's guests. Remember?"

"Oh, that." Zee finished taking
off the boot and started on the right one. "I really ain't in the mood for Shakespeare,
darlin'."

"Shakespeare?" Christie's voice
rose. "Who said anything about Shakespeare? It's Vaudeville. It says
so on the tickets."

In other circumstances, the stunned
expression on Zee's face might have been funny, but Christie was too busy getting
her lover to wipe her boots with a damp cloth, brushing the worst of the dust
off her levis and vest, and finally running a wet comb through her glossy black
hair to think about that.

At last she stood back and regarded
Zee appraisingly. "You'll do." She reached for her reticule. "Now let's go.
We'll just about make it."

"But I was planning to take a
nap," protested Zee, fighting a rearguard action even as Christie shooed her
down the stairs, into the lobby, then out of the hotel's double doors. "You
know: you, me, a nice soft bed ..."

The tall woman's crooked smile
filled Christie's stomach with butterflies, and for a moment she was sorely
tempted to simply turn round on the spot, head back to their room, and spend
the rest of the day ravishing Zee. But she took a deep breath and steeled herself.
How often did they get free tickets to the Vaudeville?

"Later," she promised.

"Darlin', I'm counting on it."

***

Zee stared at the spotlit figure
on the tiny stage and tried not to fidget. She'd much rather be in bed with
her girl than sitting here listening to a coarse comedian tell an endless series
of double entendres. She glanced at her companion who was holding a gloved
hand to her open mouth and seemed torn between shock and enjoyment.

The deputy squinted at the program
lying open on Christie's lap. Garish red type proclaimed: 'Ferdy Leybourne's
Company of American and European Novelties.' So far, they had seen four comic
acrobats who rolled round the stage like tumbleweed, and two Irish lasses who
sang plaintive ballads that didn't leave a dry eye in the house (except for
Zee's). The plump comic currently regaling the guffawing audience with off-colour
humour was Ferdy Leybourne himself.

"I thought Dan and Vesta were
supposed to be in this," she said.

"Shhh!" Christie's gaze was still
riveted on the stage. "They are." A gurgle of laughter escaped her, and her
cheeks turned bright red. "Did he really say what I think he did?!"

Zee sighed and reached for the
program. She ran one forefinger down the list of acts. Next on, according to
this, was 'The Incomparable Vesta Vance and the Ribtickling Dan Corri. All the
way from England."

Guess those are their stage names.

A roll of the drums from the
band and a loud round of applause made her look up in time to see Ferdy Leybourne
running into the wings.

Onto the stage in his place strutted
a dandy wearing the latest fashion in Eastern garb. He stopped centre stage,
stroked his beard, then lit up a cigar. There was something oddly familiar about
the fellow. Maybe it was just that the checked trousers, high collar, and trimmed
goatee reminded Zee of Fred Younger, Christie's insufferable ex-beau.

Her attention was diverted as
next onto the stage danced a plump little dairymaid, complete with apron, frilly
bonnet, and milk pails. The face under the pigtails was instantly familiar.

She blinked. "Isn't that -?".

"Dan," confirmed a startled Christie,
as the little Englishman capered around the dandy then curtseyed to him, provoking
a ripple of laughter from the audience. Abruptly he struck a pose and broke
into song.

The singing was all right, thought
Zee, if you liked that kind of thing. Dan had a pleasant enough tenor voice.
But his lyrics were all about a milkmaid's troubles with lustful farmers, and,
though on the surface completely innocent, was couched in the most suggestive
language Zee had heard (and she'd heard quite a bit.) She was tempted to put
her hands over Christie's ears, but far from being shocked, the little blonde
seemed to be enjoying herself.

All the while the milkmaid sang
and capered, the Eastern dandy continued smoking his cigar and regarding 'her'
with a supercilious air. The song ended, and the dandy made a 'be off with you'
gesture to the milkmaid, who thumbed 'her' nose, then curtseyed, and scampered
off.

Alone on stage once more, the
dandy crushed his cigar under his boot-heel, stepped forward, struck his own
pose and began to sing. His posture, his manner, everything about him was masculine.
It was only when a soprano voice rang round the auditorium that Zee realized
'he' was a she', was in fact Vesta.

"Come to my arms, my lady fair.

"How long have I sought for thee.

"How can I ever tell the world

"All that thou art to me ..."
sang Vesta strongly to a pretty young girl sitting in the front row. Zee raised
one eyebrow, then settled back in her seat and listened appreciatively.

The murmurs of shock had quickly
given way to delighted appreciation, as the audience realized how skilfully
they had been taken in and happily colluded in the deception. When the song
came to an end, and the dandy gracefully removed the yellow rose from 'his'
buttonhole and threw it to the young woman, now pink with delight and embarrassment,
there was a spontaneous outburst of applause.

"So that's why -" began Christie.

Zee turned to look at her. "Why
what?"

"Why she was so interested in
the way you dress."

The deputy nodded. "And why Dan's
suitcase was full of women's clothing."

"Imagine what the Reverend would
have said if he knew!" They chuckled at the thought.

The dandy bowed and strolled
offstage as Dan returned, dressed this time as a very short, stout, and unconvincing
Red Indian woman. His song was about trying to make the woman's 'brave' more
amorous and was just as suggestive as his earlier number. Then Vesta came back
on, dressed as an army officer with a more than passing resemblance to Col.
Gregg. Zee suppressed a guffaw as the Officer convincingly courted a different
pretty young woman sitting in the second row.

Zee was sorry when the Galvins'
act came to an end and they took their bows and left the stage. She wasn't really
interested in the acts that followed, the dancers and comedians, the troupe
of trained collie dogs who simulated rescuing a child from a burning house.
When the curtain fell at last, Zee was glad to be able to stretch her legs -
their seats hadn't been designed with her lanky frame in mind.

"Well," said Christie, as they
made their way backstage to congratulate their former travelling companions
before returning to the hotel. "That was a surprise."

"Mmm," said Zee. "Much better
than Shakespeare."

***

"Are you going to be much longer?"

Christie suppressed a grin, gave
her long hair a final stroke, then placed the hairbrush on the hotel dresser.
She stood up and crossed to the big bed.

"You can help speed things up."
She turned until her back was facing Zee. The creak of bedsprings signalled
that her lover was sitting up. Moments later, she felt her stays loosening and
breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks." She pulled the uncomfortable
garment off and folded it carefully, placing it with her dress. Just because
Zee tended to throw her clothes all over the floor, it didn't mean she was going
to. She turned to find Zee's appreciative gaze raking her from head to foot.

"Donít know why you decided to
wear a corset again," grumbled the tall woman, leaning back against the pillows,
putting her hands behind her head, and crossing her long legs at the ankles.

"There are different standards
of attire for attending the Theatre than for going to Madame Angie's," said
Christie firmly. She stripped down to her drawers, conscious that Zee was watching
her every move and slowing her disrobing deliberately.

"Come here, you little tease,"
growled the deputy at last.

Christie laughed, draped her
stockings over a chairback and went to join her lover, giving Zee's big toe
a tweak as she crawled past it.

Christie was only too willing
to be pulled into the other woman's embrace. Playful wrestling escalated into
heated kissing before the need to breathe made them pull back.

"Mmmm." Christie nestled contentedly
into Zee's arms. "This is the perfect end to a very strange couple of days."

"Yeah." Zee laughed. "Who knew
there were so many women pretending to be men out there?"

"And men pretending to be women,"
added Christie. She was pensive for a while. "Why do you think they do it, Zee?"

The tall woman shrugged. "Well,
darlin', it sure is a damned good disguise if you want to rob a stage."

"But Vesta and Dan ..." Her voice
trailed off as she considered the English couple's act. Dan had made her laugh
until she cried, but Vesta ... well Vesta's act had both confused and intrigued
her, and, she wouldn't mind betting, a lot of the audience felt the same. A
nibble on her neck brought her out of her reverie.

"Does there have to be a reason?"
asked Zee. "Maybe that's just who they are."

The nibble became a delicious
suction, and Christie knew she would have to wear a neckscarf tomorrow. Absently,
she pulled back her hair, revealing more of her neck for Zee's attentions and
mulled over the other woman's answer. Just who they are. Inescapably, her thoughts
turned to her brother. Blue would never think that way about her and Zee, would
he? She sighed.

"Hey!" Zee stopped what she was
doing and turned concerned blue eyes on her. "You all right?"

Christie brushed one tanned cheekbone
with her forefinger. "Do you think Blue will ever come around?" she asked timidly.

Zee took her hand and kissed
its palm. "Yeah," she said confidently. "Wanna know why? I think he's angry,
mostly. A lot at me, a little at you. A woman, an ex outlaw, no less, seduced
his sister, his friend Fred's fiancée." She raised a sardonic eyebrow.
"If I didn't know better Iíd be shocked myself."

"But it wasn't like that!" objected
Christie.

Zee put a finger to her lips.
"But that's how it seems to him, darlin'. And it's a lot to swallow "

Christie shoulders slumped. "So
there's no hope then?"

Zee hugged her reassuringly.
"Sure there is. Once his anger wears off, he'll want to see his little sister.
I guarantee it. You love each other, always have always will. All those memories
of your parents, all that history you two share ... that's a lot to throw away.
He'll come to his senses, and sooner rather than later."

"But he said," Christie's throat
was clogged with grief, "as long as I'm living in a brothel -" She blinked,
taken aback by Zee's huge grin. "What?"

"I was saving this piece of news
for when we get back, but now's as good a time as any." Zee released her, rolled
over, grabbed her check shirt from its current location on the hotel's plush
green carpet, and began delving in one pocket.

"What 'news'?"

"This."

The deputy pressed a much folded,
legal looking document into Christie's hands, and then she was opening it and
staring dumbfounded at its contents.

THE OLD BARN,
SCHOOLHOUSE LANE, BENSON.

Transfer of Title
Deeds.

In consideration of three
hundred dollars, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged, Raymond Cooper,
now resident at 4, Glenn Street, Tucson,

hereby transfers to Miss Zerelda
Brodie, Deputy Sheriff of Cochise County, now resident at Angie's Palace, Benson,
and Miss Christie Hayes, also now resident at Angie's Palace, Benson, the above
property. Details are as follows: ....

Her vision blurred, and she put
a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Zee! Is this ...? Have you ...?" She took a deep breath
and tried again. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

The self-satisfied grin on her
lover's face made her feel like simultaneously throttling and kissing Zee.

"Yeah."

"But how could you afford it?!"

"Been putting aside some of the
reward monies I've earned over the last year or two." Sudden doubt filled the
blue eyes regarding her. "Thatís what you wanted, right? Our own place? There's
even a garden for if you want to grow - Oof!"

Too overcome to speak, Christie
had simply flung herself at the deputy. Then she was showering the other woman
with kisses and endearments.

"Darlin'!" panted Zee, when Christie
allowed her briefly up for air. "You're gonna be the death of me!"

"That could well be," agreed
Christie happily. "But what a way to go!"

THE END

Acknowledgments

Thanks to fellow bard Advocate
for help during the final editing stages of this story.